A Little Too Much Togetherness
by MysteriousTwinkie
Summary: Five times in which Felicity finds herself handcuffed to other people, and one time in which she is handcuffed to Oliver.
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N: My 100-followers-on-Tumblr gift. Enjoy!)**_

**A Little Too Much Togetherness #1**

Felicity supposed it was inevitable that she and Roy would get into trouble together. They were both very good at finding it, and they were together a lot.

When it had finally happened, they were at her apartment on a Saturday, having lunch. Felicity and Roy had shared many meals together after she'd realized he was barely eating. Eventually she'd coaxed his appetite out of hiding, and now he was noisily appreciative of her culinary efforts.

"Damn, Blondie," he'd sighed that day after tasting her beer cheese soup. "I saw you buy the cheapest beer and the cheapest cheese at the store. I chopped the veggies for you. I watched you cook, and I still don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" Felicity asked, tearing apart a homemade dinner roll. (Homemade if you didn't count the bread machine that had done all the mixing, kneading, and rising.)

"Take these, like, supremely redneck ingredients and turn them into something that should be served at that snobby restaurant Oliver likes so much."

Felicity beamed. "Really? You think this could belong at Table Salt?"

"Are you kidding?" Roy said. "I ate there once with Thea. This soup is better than anything on their menu."

Before she could gush over the compliment or even utter a thank-you, something flew through the open window and landed on the carpet with a _thunk_ and a _hiss_. Felicity stared at the cylinder, watching for a moment as gas escaped from one end of it and poured into the room. She hit the floor involuntarily, heard Roy mutter a word she was not overly fond of, and then passed out.

When Felicity woke up, she found herself on the couch next to Roy. His head was heavy on her shoulder. She tried to gently dislodge him, but when she raised her hand, his did the same, though he slept on. She glanced down to see that they'd been handcuffed together.

"Oh, crap."

Next to her, Roy stirred. "Uh, Blondie?" he said. "You know I don't like you that way, right?"

Felicity goggled at him, her mouth hanging open.

"Don't get me wrong—you're great," Roy continued. "You're a really good friend, and you're smart and an amazing cook and everything, but you're, like, ten years older than me. Plus, I'm pretty sure Queen would snap my neck if I so much as looked at you the wrong way."

Felicity punched him in the arm, hard. It was more satisfying and less dangerous now that he was no longer juiced up on mirakuru.

"Ow! What was that for?" He raised his hand to rub his arm, and her hand followed.

"So many reasons. I'll tell you all of them, and you can pick whichever one you want and be thankful I didn't punch you for each one."

Roy drew back a little, but since they were bound wrist-to-wrist, he just pulled her with him. Felicity yanked her hand back.

"First, I am _not_ ten years older than you. I'm only six years older," she said. "Second, I _am_ smart, so I'm insulted that you think _I_ would handcuff us together. Third, I don't like you that way either."

By the time she was finished, she was standing, having pulled both of them to their feet. She was breathing hard and feeling a little light-headed from whatever had been used to gas them.

"Great," said Roy. "Now that we've got that out of the way, how are we going to get out of this?"

"I just need my phone." Felicity glanced around. It wasn't on the coffee table where she'd left it. "Do you have yours?" she asked him.

Roy patted his pockets awkwardly with his left hand. "Nope. Whoever gassed us must have taken them."

"My tablet—" But her tablet was no longer on the coffee table either. "_Damn_. Damn damn dammity damn damn."

Her lower lip started to tremble, so she bit down on it. She would not cry. It was just a thing, and things could be replaced. Her tablet was password-protected, and nearly everything on it was encrypted, but it was _hers_. Tears began to fill her eyes.

"Are you going to cry?" Roy asked.

"No. Shut up," Felicity said, swiping her free hand across her face.

"You're really that attached to your tablet?"

"Well, how would you feel if you woke up to find that someone had taken your . . . your . . . your hoodie?" It was all she could think of, besides Thea, that he seemed remotely attached to.

Roy smirked. "I'd go down to Old Navy and shell out twenty bucks for a new one."

"It's almost like you're asking to be punched again."

They sniped back and forth some more, and then Felicity dragged Roy into the next room to see if anything else had been taken. The gassing, handcuffing thieves must have thought her desktop computer wasn't worth the trouble, but they'd taken her external hard drive. It was also encrypted, and she had backups of her backups. Felicity used her desktop to get a message to Diggle and Oliver that she and Roy were unhurt but in need of rescue. Typing with only her right hand was slow and annoying.

"Look, I'm sorry about your tablet, Blondie," Roy said as they returned to the living room.

"It's okay," Felicity replied. "It has a tracker in it. So do our phones. But if they decide to trash it because they can't access anything else—"

" 'She'?" he repeated. "You're one of those people who names their stuff, aren't you?"

"Just my computers."

"Blondie, you have a _lot_ of computers," Roy pointed out.

Felicity sniffed. She was not in the mood to be given a hard time because she'd named the trio of computers at the lair Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

"You know what?" she said. "Our soup is getting cold."

Roy's stomach growled audibly at the mere mention of food.

With careful coordination, they reheated their soup and were able to eat. It helped that they were both right-handed, though Felicity thought it was weird and a little irritating to watch her left hand rise every time Roy took a bite. That was how Oliver and Diggle found them soon afterward, handcuffed together and eating soup.

Felicity dropped her spoon, and it clattered loudly on the table. "All right, which one of you kicked open my door?"

Diggle immediately pointed to Oliver.

"I said we weren't hurt, Oliver."

"You said you needed to be rescued." He was talking to her, but glaring at Roy. Roy rolled his eyes and muttered, "I told you so."

"And that justifies breaking down my door even though Dig has a key?" she asked.

"I tried to tell him," said Dig, "but he wasn't exactly listening to reason."

"When does he ever?"

Oliver stepped into her personal space. "I was worried," he said in a quieter tone, an almost-whisper that he only seemed to use with her. "I wasn't thinking straight. When you say you need a rescue, my mind goes right to all the horrible things you might need to be rescued from." He tilted his head, and his lips curved upward. "Though I have to say, soup and handcuffs didn't enter my mind."

"Were the handcuffs your idea, Felicity?" Dig asked, with a barely concealed grin.

"Why is everyone assuming that? No!" Felicity's hands waved around, and, as a consequence, so did Roy's. "Handcuffs are not for interrupting two totally platonic friends during lunch. Handcuffs are for cops and sexy times, especially not _my_ sexy times. I like my hands free."

"Wow. TMI," said Roy.

Felicity covered her face with her hands—and one of Roy's. Oliver stepped up to her again and lowered her hands. He smiled what she thought of as his "you are remarkable" smile, something else that he didn't seem to use with anyone but her, and he wasn't letting go of the hand currently tethered to Roy. With his other hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small case. Felicity gaped at it.

"Is that a lock-picking kit?" she asked. "You had a lock-picking kit _and_ a spare key at your disposal, and you _still_ kicked open my door?"

Roy grinned. "I told you so, Blondie."


	2. Chapter 2

**A Little Too Much Togetherness—#2**

"Okay, you stealth ninja assassin. You can get us out of this, right?" Felicity raised her arm and rattled the handcuffs that bound them together.

"I can try," Sara replied. "But my ego's a little bruised."

"I know, right? They got close enough to handcuff you and lived to tell the tale. They're totally bragging to all their little mercenary friends right now."

"That's not helping."

"What would help?" Felicity asked.

"You could say 'assassin' again," said Sara as she inspected the handcuffs.

"Um . . . why?"

Sara shrugged. "Because when you say it, I don't hate it. You never say it with a shudder. You say 'assassin' the way most people say 'astronaut.'"

"Well, to be fair, most astronauts aren't in the business of killing people. Though there was that one astronaut who murdered her boyfriend. I wonder if she was space-crazy . . ." Felicity shook her head. "But most astronauts and even most assassins don't kill people in order to save their families and entire cities. Plus, you're my friend, which is way better than being an astronaut."

"Yeah, it is," Sara said with a smile. "I don't suppose you have any bobby pins lurking in that fancy updo of yours."

"Nope," she answered. "My hair is a slave to my will. I don't need bobby pins. But I do have—" Felicity reached her free hand behind her back. "A safety pin."

Sara took it from her. "I think I can make this work." She bent back the arm of the pin and set to work on the handcuffs. "You know, Nyssa and I were handcuffed together once."

Felicity made a choking sound.

"Not in the fun way," Sara explained, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "We were infiltrating a human trafficking ring in Thailand, and we got in a little over our heads."

"Wow. You? In over your head? I never would've guessed."

Sara grinned into the darkness.

"How'd you get out of it?" Felicity asked.

"Nyssa. She dislocated her thumb and slid the cuff off." She could hear Felicity gag. "Hey, you wanted to know."

Sara worked in silence for a few more minutes. Then the lock clicked free and the cuffs snapped open.

"Yay," said Felicity, rubbing her left wrist. "I need my safety pin back."

"I bent it up pretty good."

"No!" the other woman wailed. "I _need_ it. I can't leave this room without it."

"It's a safety pin, Felicity," Sara replied. "A broken one. I'll buy you a box of shiny new ones."

"It's the only one I have on me, and it's the only thing holding this dress together."

"_What_?"

"This is your fault," Felicity said. "You're the one who stole this dress from the back of Laurel's closet instead of letting me go home and change into something that actually fits."

"I told you, there was no time—"

"So this dress is totally backless, and it's made for someone taller. Without that safety pin, everyone's going to get a free show."

"I'll walk right behind you," Sara offered.

"Then _you'll_ get a free show," Felicity muttered.

"Better me than Ollie, right?"

"_Oh my God."_

Sara shrugged out of her leather jacket. "Come on. Hold it together in the back, and you can put on my jacket."

Felicity eyed the black leather. "That's not going to cover everything I need it to."

"Really?"

"Backless. For a taller person," Felicity said through gritted teeth.

Sara choked off a laugh that turned into a cough. Felicity accepted the jacket and tied it around her waist.

"If anyone asks," she said, her blue eyes flashing, "I had a wardrobe malfunction, which is the truth. We'll just leave the handcuffs part out of it."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Little Too Much Togetherness—#3**

"I have to pee," Felicity declared.

Quentin sighed, rolling his eyes skyward.

"So how is this going to work?"

"Well, I'll have to go in there with you," said Quentin, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'll avert my eyes, and then we'll never speak of it again."

"Right. Sounds like a good plan."

Felicity headed for the ladies' room, trailing Quentin in her wake by the handcuffs linking them together. Thank God Queen Consolidated was deserted at this hour. He didn't want anyone to see him handcuffed to a girl the same age as his daughter, no matter how innocent the explanation.

It was a tight fit for them both to squeeze into the bathroom stall. Quentin stood facing the door, so close to it that his nose almost touched the surface. His left arm stretched behind him, muscles straining in protest.

Felicity cleared her throat and began to speak, though there was no covering up the sound in such close quarters.

"So what made you think this was a good idea?" she asked.

"You had to pee."

"No, not this, which we will never speak of again," said Felicity. "I mean the handcuffs."

"I had to stop you somehow, and it seemed inappropriate to throw you over my shoulder," Quentin explained.

"And handcuffing yourself to me seemed like the appropriate choice?"

"Believe me, I'm already regretting it," said Quentin. "When I promised the Arrow I wouldn't let you out of my sight, this is not what I had in mind."

"I see where you're coming from," Felicity conceded. "I was heading for the door, and you had to do something. I get it. Right up to the point when you threw the key down the elevator shaft."

"I think we can both agree that it wasn't one of my finer moments."

The toilet flushed. It was high-powered, flushing with a river-rapid roar that was almost deafening in the small space.

"Damn," he muttered.

"I know—it sounds like a hurricane in here," Felicity said. "Over the top, just like everything else on the executive floor. Have you seen the coffeemaker? You need a degree in engineering to be able to operate that thing."

Quentin exited the stall first, then stayed close to the sink, his cuffed arm moving in little jerks as Felicity washed her hands.

"There's something I've been wondering," he began, but she'd just put her hands under the automatic dryer, which was also high-powered. The resulting windstorm was more than enough to cut him off.

"Sorry, what?" she said once the noise died down.

"I've been wondering about something," he repeated, "and now I have a captive audience." He held open the door for her, and they left the restroom.

"Oh God," Felicity breathed. "Hacking is such an ugly term. It's information-gathering. And if the way I go about it sometimes is on the darker side of shady, it's all in service of justice."

"I don't wonder about what you do for the Arrow, Miss Smoak," Quentin said. "I'm more curious about your relationship with him."

"My _what_?" She pushed her glasses up on her nose. She was right-handed, so every gesture she made (and she made lots of them) pulled his left hand along for the ride. "No, no, no. There is no relationship. None whatsoever. We're just on the same team. Partners . . . and friends. Trust me, we are so platonic, it's not even funny."

"Now I don't believe that for a minute," Quentin said. "I've seen the guy in action, and I've seen the change that comes over him when you're in danger. He's saved my life before, and he's saved Laurel so many times that I lost count, but he is completely different with you. IT's this scary combination of rage and tenderness. It freaks me the hell out, and it makes me worry about you a little bit."

"You worry about me?" Felicity asked.

"Well, yeah," said Quentin. "Someone has to. Someone besides the guy who spends his nights in a mask and hood, chasing across rooftops with a bow and arrows. Didn't you have a dad standing at the door with a shotgun to turn away guys like that?"

"I didn't need one," she replied, "not for that. Believe me, that was _not_ the kind of guy I attracted growing up."

"Then how did you catch the Arrow's attention?"

Felicity shrugged, jerking Quentin's arm down. Their height difference—he was at least a foot taller than her—made the situation about ten times more ridiculous.

"I don't know. I've never asked," said Felicity. "I guess he found out I'm good at what I do." She sank onto a nearby chair. "And I couldn't resist the opportunity to show off how good I am at what I do."

"How does Queen feel about that arrangement?"

Felicity tilted her head, searching for an answer. It was a little mean of Quentin, since he knew perfectly well that Oliver Queen was the Arrow, but he couldn't resist.

"You know."

She said it so quietly that it took a moment for Quentin to look at her and realize she'd spoken.

"I've known for a while that you figured it out," she continued. "But you didn't say anything, so I thought you must have a good reason for not saying anything, so I didn't say anything either." She sighed. "You know. And I know you know, so asking me how Oliver feels about me and the Arrow—I mean, me working with the Arrow—is just—"

"It was petty. I'm sorry," Quentin admitted. "That kid brings out the worst in me."

"Maybe because that's how you still see him," said Felicity. "In spite of everything, you still see Oliver as the spoiled rich kid who took your daughter from you."

Quentin stared at her. "But you always see the best in him. How do you do it?"

She shrugged again, and his arm jerked. "I didn't know him before. Everyone who did had all these expectations of what he'd be like when he returned, but he had a clean slate with me. I've only known the terrible liar who walked up to my cubicle one day with a shot-up laptop."

"Terrible liar? Really?" Quentin asked. "I was always a little impressed with that. I saw him beat a polygraph. Convincingly."

"I guess it's just me, then, because his excuses were ridiculous," Felicity said. "I'm not sure anyone is dumb enough to believe that a spilled latte could just spontaneously create bullet holes. And it just went downhill from there. He doesn't even try lying anymore. Now if he has something to hide, he tries to avoid me."

"Trying would imply not succeeding," Quentin pointed out.

Felicity smirked. "I am very, _very_ good at what I do."


	4. Chapter 4

**A Little Too Much Togetherness-#4**

"Well, this is awkward."

Felicity recognized Laurel's voice. She tried to sit up, but her head protested loudly. She groaned, easing back until she felt her shoulders come to rest against something solid.

"This is inconvenient," said Felicity. "Being handcuffed to your dad when I had a full bladder, _that_ was awkward."

"When were you handcuffed to my dad?" Laurel asked.

"A few months ago. And it was all his fault, and we swore to never speak of it again, so don't tell him I said anything."

"How did you get free?"

"We had to wait for Oliver to rescue us," Felicity replied. "Apparently lock-picking is not a skill taught at the police academy."

"Well, yeah, because law enforcement has all these crazy ideas about things like search warrants and probable cause." Laurel shifted, pulling on Felicity's arm. "Sorry."

Felicity sighed. "If you apologize every time you move, then I'll feel like I have to apologize every time I move, and then that's all we'll talk about."

"Then what should we talk about?" asked Laurel. "I don't really know you, so I have no idea if we have anything in common besides Ollie. And clearly that subject is off the table since everyone's still ignoring the elephant in the room."

Felicity twisted her wrist this way and that. "The next time I see Oliver, I'm getting him to teach me how to unlock these things." She looked up at Laurel. "Wait . . . what elephant?"

"You."

"_I'm_ the elephant?" Felicity mumbled, but Laurel continued, talking over her.

"You're the woman Oliver loves, not that he seems to be doing anything about it. Slade Wilson's men took me, but you were the real prize."

"That wasn't—"

"I heard everything," said Laurel. "When Ollie brought you to his house and left you there. Slade's thugs had already grabbed me, and they took me to his creepy little hideout where he watched all his camera feeds. I heard Ollie tell you Slade took the wrong woman."

Felicity tried to protest.

"AA taught me to talk things out," Laurel said. "I'm trying to express my emotions in healthy ways. Look, Ollie was my first love, and there will probably always be a little part of me that wishes he was my last one too. But we've both changed. We don't fit together anymore, I know that. I just figured that I'd find someone else before he did, and . . . honestly, it was a shock to discover that his someone wasn't Sara or even anyone I knew. I'm not jealous—I'm just surprised."

Felicity frowned. "Laurel, you know that wasn't real, right? It was all part of the plan to get me close to Slade."

"Right," Laurel scoffed. "It may have been part of the plan to make Slade think he had the wrong woman, but that doesn't mean it wasn't true."

"But it _wasn't_," said Felicity, choking out a laugh. "Him and _me_?"

"I heard him, Felicity. God knows Ollie's lied to me enough times that I know what it sounds like, and he wasn't lying."

Felicity covered her face with her hands, pulling Laurel's arm upward. "If ever there was a perfect time for Oliver to show up for a rescue, now would be it."

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," Laurel said. "Believe me, I never thought I'd be convincing someone else that Ollie loved her."

"Okay, you have to stop talking now. Just stop." Felicity had her hands over her ears now, not caring at all how she was yanking Laurel's arm around. "No more 'Ollie,' no more throwing the 'L' word around. You know what? Let's just not talk. At all."

"Okay."

When Felicity dropped her hands from her ears, the handcuff encircling her wrist slipped down. She gaped at it.

"No freaking way."

"What happened to no talking?" Laurel asked.

Felicity held up her wrist. As Laurel watched, she drew her fingers together, making her hand as narrow as she could. Using her free hand, she slipped the cuff off her wrist. She stood up.

"I'm going to . . . I'm just gonna go," she said. "You'll be all right, right? At least we're not stuck together anymore. So I'll just go." She turned to leave, but there were footsteps clanging on the metal stairs.

"Felicity?" Oliver said. "Why are all the lights off?" He pulled the lever and suddenly the Foundry was awash in light.

Felicity didn't stop to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. Even though her head was throbbing, she rushed toward the stairs.

"Felicity?"

He was in her way. She brushed past him, his hand trailing down her arm. He stopped at her wrist, tightening his hold, and she stumbled backward. Oliver caught her, of course. He always did.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Just let her go, Ollie," Laurel called out.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Felicity ran up the stairs and out of the Foundry. Oliver stared after her as Laurel approached him.

"What was that about?" he asked her. "And what's that about?" He pointed to the half-open handcuffs dangling from her wrist.

"This? Not important right now," said Laurel, shaking the cuffs. "That?" She glanced up the stairs. "Just a little more truth than she's ready for."


	5. Chapter 5

**A Little Too Much Togetherness—#5**

"I will kill him," Felicity said through clenched teeth. "I swear, Dig, I will kill him. And then I'm going to start carrying a handcuff key in my bra."

"You know Oliver doesn't think straight when it comes to his family," said Diggle. "And Thea's the only family he has left."

"That is no excuse for him to handcuff us together so we can't stop him from charging off to confront Malcolm 'oops-that-whole-being-dead-thing-was-a-misunderstanding' Merlyn!"

Felicity was furious. She wanted to kick something (preferably Oliver). Or throw something (preferably _at_ Oliver). She was beginning to understand why Oliver vented his anger on the training dummies.

Diggle sighed. "He did it because he wanted to keep us safe," he said.

"Ridiculous," Felicity insisted. "I'm pretty sure Malcolm Merlyn would take one look at your arms and just start crying."

Dig grinned.

"Besides," she continued, "Oliver's making our choices for us, and you know how that much pisses me off."

"Look, he's an overprotective idiot, but he's _our_ overprotective idiot."

"He handcuffed you to me!" Felicity said, indignant. "Why are you defending him?"

Diggle shrugged. It was the first movement that jostled her arm where her hand was bound to his. Up to that point he'd been very still, mindful of her injured shoulder. The shoulder that may have been part of the reason Oliver was being all caveman, since it was technically his fault. Two days before, they'd done the Tarzan thing yet again to get away from the bad guys. This time, though, Oliver had no control so instead of him carefully setting her on her feet or turning to break her fall, she'd crashed to the ground, landing hard on her left shoulder. Her upper arm was one giant bruise, and Oliver had been weirdly upset about it, even more than when she'd been shot.

"I can see where he's coming from, that's all," said Dig.

"Oh, really? If it were you, would you have handcuffed me and Oliver together?" Felicity asked.

"Oh, hell no. I couldn't get close enough to Oliver to do that without a fight." He leaned back in his chair. "No, I'd just lock you two in a room somewhere. Now _that_ would be interesting."

"It just doesn't make sense to me," Felicity said. "Maybe if I understood why he did this to us, why he thought it was a good idea, then I wouldn't be so angry."

"Doing this to me was strategy," Diggle replied. "Doing this to you . . . well, Oliver doesn't always think straight when it comes to you, either."

"Huh. I guess we _are_ kind of like family," Felicity mused.

"Yeah, right. That's it. Family," Diggle said drily.

Before Felicity could ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean, his phone rang. It was Lyla—she could tell by the ringtone, "Trouble" by Ray LaMontagne.

She nudged Diggle, bumping her sore shoulder into his. "_Ow_. Hey, get Lyla to come down and rescue us," she suggested as he raised the phone to his ear. "ARGUS must have taught her how to escape handcuffs somewhere along the way."

Dig shushed her. "Hey, babe, what's up? . . . Are you serious?"

Felicity leaned in a little to try to hear the other side of the conversation.

"Oh my God." Diggle ran a hand over his face, the hand that was cuffed to hers. It _hurt_. Felicity was starting to wonder if she'd been too hasty insisting that she didn't need X-rays or anything. "No, babe, there's no problem," he continued. "It's our child, not an inconvenience."

Felicity's eyes widened. Was Lyla in labor?

"Of course I'll be there. Felicity and I will leave as soon as I hang up . . . Well, we're in a situation, so we're sort of a package deal right now . . . I'll explain when I see you. Love you, bye." He ended the call and looked over at Felicity.

"Is it time?" she asked.

"It's time. You've been saying you wanted to be at the hospital when the baby came. Now you've got your wish."

"_At_ the hospital, not _in_ the delivery room," she muttered.

With a coordinated effort, they got to their feet. Felicity grabbed the cardigan draped over the back of her chair and used it to cover up the handcuffs. Speed was more important than her injury, so after going up the stairs single-file and being tethered to Dig as he clumsily drove one-handed, she was in a lot of pain by the time they reached the hospital.

Felicity thought Lyla would be upset, but they'd arrived between contractions—the soon-to-be mom was in a giddy mood. When she saw the handcuffs, she laughed so hard that tears streamed down her face.

Over the next few hours, Felicity tried to stay out of the way, which meant standing behind Diggle with her left arm stretched out in front of her. Oliver texted her that Thea and Merlyn had left town before he got to them, that he was sorry and was on his way to let them out. She sent him an all-caps response that she was angry but they'd talk about it later because it was baby time. He replied with exclamation points, which was the Oliver equivalent of shouting from the rooftops, she supposed. She sent him a flurry of texts after that, keeping him posted. It seemed tacky to call him from the delivery room. Plus, it was kind of noisy in there.

Felicity was standing alone at the observation window of the nursery when Oliver showed up. She still wore her paper gown, and her ponytail was stuffed underneath a surgical cap. Oliver followed her gaze, looking at the rows of empty cradles.

"Oh, she's not in there," Felicity said. "I just came out here to give them a moment."

" 'She'?" Oliver asked.

Felicity smiled. "Joanna Megan Diggle. She's more bald than a little old man. Actually, she kind of _looks_ like a little old man. But don't tell them I said that."

"How did you get out of the handcuffs?"

"I told Detective Lance he owed me one."

"I'm sorry," said Oliver.

His hand rested on her injured shoulder, causing a spike of pain to course through it. She must have made some kind of noise because suddenly he was right in front of her, close enough to kiss, and his touched on her bruised flesh was unbearably gentle.

"X-rays?" he asked.

She nodded, letting him draw her away from the window and steer her down the hall.

"Joanna Megan," said Oliver. "Is that Megan for you?"

"Yes, and Joanna for you. It's about as close to Jonas as it gets without making up a name." She stopped and turned to him. "But don't let it go to your head because I'm still really mad at you." She pulled out the handcuffs and gave them to him. He pocketed them with a wink.

"Joanna," he repeated. "I can live with that."


	6. Chapter 6

**A Little Too Much Togetherness—#6**

Felicity wouldn't wake up. Oliver wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd come to, finding himself handcuffed to Felicity in some kind of empty room, little more than a closet. Hours, maybe, and she was still unconscious. Fear was beginning to well up from the pit of his stomach. She was tiny compared to him, so it stood to reason that whatever they'd been drugged with would take longer to break down in her system. But it had been so long, and she hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched.

Oliver looked her over, though he'd already checked her for injuries more than once. Her glasses had come off at some point. Without them, Felicity looked a little younger, and more vulnerable. As he lightly pressed his fingers to her neck to check her pulse for the tenth time, her eyes fluttered open.

"Felicity?"

She coughed. He helped her sit up, and she turned and vomited on the floor.

"Wh-what's going on?" she asked, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. The hand that was cuffed to his. Her eyes widened. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Does originality not count for anything anymore?"

"This does happen to you a lot, doesn't it?" He said it with a smile on his face, but his heart was pounding and part of him wanted to weep with relief.

"Said like someone who wasn't responsible for the last time." She squinted at him. "Are you okay? You're . . ." Felicity touched a fingertip to his cheek. It came away wet.

"You were—" His voice was rough. He cleared his throat. "You were out for a really long time."

"The last thing I remember is you walking me to my car, which was—" she checked her watch. "—half an hour ago."

"Seriously?" He rubbed his free hand across his face. "it felt like a lot longer."

"So what did you do, just stare at me while I was passed out?" Felicity asked.

"What? No, I—_no_."

"Because I've got to say, I'm kind of surprised you haven't done anything about this yet." She rattled the handcuffs. "Where's your handy little lock-picking kit?"

"In my other pants," Oliver replied.

Felicity sighed, shifting so she could draw up her knees.

"Weren't you going to start carrying a key on you?" he asked her.

"I did, for a few weeks." She rested her chin on her knees. "But nothing happened, and then Joanna got sick . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Dig and Lyla's baby had come down with a virus, and it had gotten very serious. She had just turned a corner and was on the mend, but things had been tense for days before that. Felicity had asked Oliver to train with her. Since it seemed to work for him to process his feelings, she wanted to give it a try, she'd said. It was either that or ice cream, and she had so much to process that all that ice cream would have made her sick. Oliver had been walking her to her car afterward, and that's when they'd been grabbed.

"I wouldn't have kept a key in my workout clothes anyway," Felicity continued. "Sara go us out with a safety pen. Is there anything like that in here?" she asked, looking around.

"There's nothing," Oliver said. "I've never been in an emptier room."

"It's too tight for me to get my hand out." She showed him, pulling at the handcuff encircling her slender wrist. The cuff was leaving a red mark on her skin. "So I guess it's up to you to get us out of this."

"And how would you suggest I do that?" Oliver asked. His tone was harsh, but only because he was trying so hard to keep the amusement and affection out of it.

"I don't know. Can't you just intimidate the lock with the power of your glare?"

There was no hiding the smile this time. No one could pull a genuine smile out of him like Felicity.

"I don't think my glare is consistently intimidating," he said. "it works on hardened criminals, but it doesn't work on you."

She arched an eyebrow. "I like to think I'm more discerning than most hardened criminals."

"Oh, you are. Most of the time." Oliver took her cuffed hand in his. She didn't seem to notice.

"Oh! Sara said Nyssa dislocated her thumb once. Could you do that? I know it would hurt, but not as much as some things."

"I'd rather not try something like that on my bow hand, even if I knew how," Oliver said. He looked down at their intertwined fingers. She still hadn't noticed, or she was really good at ignoring it. Which was better than if she'd pulled away, he guessed.

"I didn't think of that." Felicity sighed. "_I_ could try it. It couldn't be that hard. Probably just pull until it hurts, and then keep pulling—"

"_No_." He squeezed her hand, and she looked down—finally—and then up at him. "You put yourself in the line of fire enough as it is."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are we going to have that conversation again?" she asked. "I thought I made myself clear about you making decisions for me."

"And it's a conversation we'll keep having because I haven't changed my mind." He felt the gaze that had never intimidated her soften. "I will never be okay with putting you in danger."

"Well." She looked away first. "As long as you know you'll have a fight on your hands every time it comes up, then I guess we can just agree to disagree."

Her hand shifted in his, and he tightened his grasp. "Don't," he said, his voice just a breath above a whisper.

"You're probably right," she conceded. "I don't know what I'm doing. There could be permanent damage, and my magic hands are way too valuable to your nightly endeavors."

He chuckled, then froze at the sound. But Felicity kept going as if nothing had happened. She could have no idea of the moment's significance.

"Wow," she said. "Just when I think the rambling can't get any worse. How about you just quit looking at me like that, and we'll pretend I stopped talking after 'permanent damage'?"

"Sounds fair."

He averted his gaze but couldn't suppress a smile. Oliver had never expected it to happen like this—he'd never expected _her_—but he wasn't surprised at all that Felicity was the first person to make him genuinely laugh again.


End file.
